Five Simple Candles
by Cat's Dog
Summary: To Solas the candles represent an exercise to train young Lavellan in the arts of magic. To the Inquisitor it is a careful game of cat and mouse. F Lavellan/Solas One shot


Five small candles were clumped together on the far end of the rotunda, well outside of Ellana Lavellan's reach and carefully positioned away from the hanging white drapes usually meant for catching paint. Some of the bolts of cloth were black and brown at the edges or bore holes from embers and flakes of flame from previous exercises, earning the candles' position with the scent of burnt wool. The candles had seen their life time's use, the wax warped and bleeding into their copper bowls, with used wicks that looked like burnt, black worms.

The room was filled with the sounds of a quill scribbling on parchment and the creaking of wooden scaffolding. Ellana was a small figure, enough so that one could be forgiven for overlooking her in the bundle of robes and animal skins that she wore to spite the this high in the mountains. Even so, she left a thousand foot prints on the scaffolding, the shape of her shoe left in the piles of dust and fallen paint chips from her constant pacing.

Small streams of the dust would occasionally fall and pool about on the desk situated beneath the scaffolding. Solas did his best to ignore it and at times used it like sand to help dry his ink, but when Ellana's pacing would cause the grains to fall just as he was finding his harmony in words he would acknowledge her with a sigh. To her it was becoming a game to see if the man's legendary patience would finally crumble as it sometimes did and she would hear the quill placed down on his desk followed by the sharp intake of breath that said he was carefully judging his words.

So far he was remaining resolute. Her footfalls became quieter when the scribbles on parchment stopped as she gawked, expecting a response. Then she would sighed to herself when the scratching resumed. They were in a battle of patience she decided, but hers was running thin.

Across the room the warped and wasted candles stood mocking her in matching silence. She had given up on turning them alight and now resolved to make as much noise as it took to drag Solas away from his journal. It was a game between them, one which he usually won. Ellana was a sore loser but she was familiar with it, but when she won she was worse, perhaps because Solas broke down so infrequently. It was a rare thing she cherished and the brightness of victory in her smug grin was usually enough to cause the irritation to wash from his face. Usually. That gamble made it all the more fun, enhancing the rush.

This continued for some time, Ellana adding frustrated sounds when she would turn on her heels until at last her efforts bore fruit.

"The candles are conspicuously unlit," Solas called out from below the scaffolding. "Are you having a problem?"

"Yeah," Ellana called back, coming to a stop then dropping into a sit, her legs dangling over the edge of the scaffolding. She bobbed her feet, swinging them at times inches away from his face. "It's hard."

"Is it?" Solas put down his quill at last. With her hands rested on the edges of the boards Ellana leaned forward to try to get a view of what he was writing. To his right were a stack of blank parchment nearly a foot high which he would use when he filled his own page. On the man's left was a bound leather case, where he would meticulously insert each page when it was done.

Past his shoulder Ellana did her best to make out what he was writing, but with his fine, tiny handwriting it was impossible to make out the words. The page was covered with elaborate drawings that filled the edges or separated the text. She thought she could make out the muzzle of a horse or perhaps the wings of a bird, but most of it was obscured by the sheen of Solas's head. He turned to look up at her, expecting an answer.

"I'll do it." Ellana hopped down off the scaffolding, landing behind Solas who did not turn to watch. All the same she rolled up her sleeves for dramatic effect and spread her fingers out wide. With a twist of her wrists each of the candles ignited simultaneously, splashing the room with color.

As expected she heard Solas sigh. "You know that won't do."

"Why not?" Ellana's voice was a playful half whine. "They're lit. And you weren't even watching."

"I felt it." Solas's words were almost impatient, chiding. She hadn't won yet as he still had the veneer of a teacher and mentor. "You lit the air on fire, caught them all at once."

"A creative solution?" she offered, adding a hint of hope to her tone.

Solas did not answer nor turn to regard he. Instead he swept his hand through the air, conjuring a gust of wind that snuffed the flames clean off the wicks. Then each of his fingers, starting with his thumb, danced forward in a series of motions, the candles reigniting as he did so.

"One," he spoke each word as his fingers moved, "at, a, time." Then in reverse, starting at his pinky, he made the motion in reverse and the fires were gone. "It's not about lighting the candles. It's about the focus."

Ellana let out a mocking growl, then clammered back up the scaffolding, climbing the twisting wood like vines and branches. She found her seat once more, with her feet dangling once again inches from Solas.

"It's hard," she repeated. When she felt him swat one of her feet with his hand she looked down, almost shocked. She was winning.

Solas would not humor her any further and she decided to not press the issue. It was a delicate dance and she had to be careful not to overplay her hand. Besides, she told herself, he had given, so it would only be a fair trade to give back.

Ellana focused long and hard on the first wick. Under such scrutiny she could still see the trail of smoke as it wafted through the air and disappeared. In all the world she made it so nothing existed save for her and the little black string. The first one was simple. As Solas often told her the elements were the easiest of all the schools and she was capable of conjuring a tiny burst of fire out of a thought. This was a test of precision and haste, however. He wanted Ellana to use only enough power to catch the wick then just as quickly do the same to its brothers. Overkill was easy, imprecision was lazy.

Like a toe in the water to test its warmth she brought light to the first candle. This at last brought Solas's attention away from his writing. His arm rested over the back of his chair and she could feel his eyes on her. The momentary feud was forgotten and though she quietly shuddered at the intensity of his gaze Ellana knew that it was purely scholastic.

Turning the elements backward the candle was snuffed out once more, setting the stage to try once again. She took in a deep breath and expanded her vision to become aware of the other wicks. With that breath still held tight in her chest she let the flames at the tip of her fingers fire outward, catching the candle tops one by one. The channel broke after the third, however. A puff of orange flame splattered against the stonewall, singing the mortar black, while the fifth candle burst at the base, sending it scattering in a starburst of wax and charred string.

With her spectacular failure Ellana Lavellan released her breath at last, then slumped back on her hands. She watched the still burning candles, unwilling to look down at Solas's expression in the wake of her failure.

It was too much at once, she thought of herself, already preparing her defense against his disappointed sigh. In a winding, serpentine motion Ellana slithered off the scaffolding and landed with a loud pop next to Solas.

"It was close," she started, doing her best to suppress a smile.

Solas looked down at the parchments on his desk one last time before dropping his quill and stepping out of his chair. "I should say not even a little."

"Three are lit!" Ellan called back.

Without saying a word Solas licked his thumb and index finger, then crossed the room and squeezed out the flames one by one. When finished he tucked his arms behind his back and folded his hands at the small of his back, ever striking the pose of a tutor.

Under his scrutiny Ellan rubbed her left arm, her upper lift quivering a bit, causing her nose to scrunch and fidget.

"Very poorly," Solas finally said as he stepped toward her. "That thing with your breath. A useful, calming trait, no doubt. But it's a habit that will have to be broken."

Ellan leaned back so that her body was arched, her hands gripping the cross beams of the scaffolding to support her weight.

"Dalish hunters hold their breath hold their breath when they nock an arrow," Ellan defended, bobbing a bit as though shrinking away from him, "calming thing before they shoot."

The affect on Solas was immediate as she had anticipated. His eyebrows furrowed and for the briefest second his lips curled into a snarl. She knew the source of it all. He was a master chef of Orlais, watching as his masterpiece dinner was compared to a Ferelden stew.

"Dalish hunters!" Solas scoffed, beginning to pace. "Yes of course. A wild, untrained magic for a wild, untrained people. Is that what you hope to be? A sustenance mage."

"It's served me so far." He was too caught up with himself to notice her playful demeanor. She had given rise to his passion, though she felt a burning envy that it was not directed at her.

"Sustenance," was all he barked back, though as he looked at her his expression softened as he remembered who he was talking to. "I'm sorry I did not mean to-,"

Seizing the moment Ellana poked at him with her foot, grazing his knee.

"I thought three candles was pretty good." The passion and energy were starting to fade at the sight of her bent, soft form and though there would be no hope of rekindling it the touch would help to redirect it. At first Solas fidgeted in surprise, his eyes falling to her foot as it retook its place on the floor.

"Oh," was the only thing Solas said, recognizing at long last that the lesson had been a game, perhaps even a waste of time. It stoked another ember of anger in him, which was evident in his long, final step toward her. In a hurried flash Ellan was standing upright, a hand holding the back of her head in place as lips pressed down against hers.

The mage who had been so in control, carefully mentoring Ellan Lavellan only moments ago had been replaced with hunger and frenzied motions. His kiss was wide and wanting, his hands against her locking the woman into place as though he expected her to squirm away.

Thoughts of Dalish hunters and their barbaric magic were gone but the fount of emotions remained. And most important they were now being channeled into her.

Ellan's arms wrapped under his, matching him, trapping him in so he could not and would not stop. The leg that had reached out and touched him, starting it all, entwined with his until they were wrapped about one another like vines.

The rush of victory, of winning the game began to fill her. It was a wash that filled every part of her, filling her with the same fire that had just moments ago ignited the wicks of three candles. The feeling of his tongue, the motion of his lips, the grip on her spine and the back of her head were each more vibrant with that passion of her success.

She hungered for him even as he seemed ready to devour her and she was ready to let him. Ellana had given herself so wholly to the moment that she did not hear the sound of the rotunda's door squeaking as it opened, nor the soft claps of expensive shoes tapping against the floor. The moment was only broken when Solas pulled away, frustration splayed across his face.

Too caught in the feeling, the hunger, the bliss, Ellana was too confused to ask, her head only ceasing in its spin when she heard a soft, female voice clear a throat.

"I understand this is...unfortunate timing, Inquisitor," Josephine said from across the way, her voice a forced steadiness, "but I'm afraid there is a matter that requires your attention."

Ellana looked into Solas's face for a tortured moment as their time together died. The child in her pouted, seathed, longed and raged all at once. In his gaze she wore a thousand emotions before she finally settled into her mask and offered him one last kiss. Without a word he let her go, instead offering her the briefest smile.

The Inquisitor stiffened and brushed the wrinkles, dust and paint out of her clothes. With Solas's hand on her shoulder to help steady her still trembling knees, she cleared her throat and said, "At your lead."

"Inquisitor," Josephine said with a bow of her head, turning and leading Ellana out of the rotunda.


End file.
